


it's you i want to take apart

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Crossdressing, Facials, Finger Sucking, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Makeup, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-05
Updated: 2012-05-05
Packaged: 2017-11-10 17:36:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He will readily admit that he likes to make Harry squirm sometimes, but this actually isn't </i>about<i> that—he just wants to help him get past whatever issue he has here. (And, okay, he also really wants to see what Harry would look like with lipstick on, because he bets it would be really pretty.)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	it's you i want to take apart

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [that one time](http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=eC1pZmZV8Rc) that Harry mysteriously flipped out because people wanted to put make-up on him. But I kind of disregarded a lot of real life for this because their radio tour got in the way of my narrative. Title from the Drake version of Lykke Li's 'Little Bit'.

In the moment, he doesn't know why he does it. The interview's over, the cameras have been turned off, and he's been fiddling with the lipstick for the past five minutes. He's just turning it over in his hands, wishing they could've persuaded Harry to put on just a little bit, and then everyone gets up to leave and he finds himself slipping the little tube into his pocket without the slightest bit of hesitation.

That night, back at home, Harry's in the bathroom brushing his teeth, and Louis is sitting on the bed with his hand in his pocket, feeling the shape of the tube against his fingertips. He's not even sure what he's planning; he wants to talk to Harry, try and understand why he freaked out the way he did—but he knows he nicked the lipstick for a reason, knows there's more to this than innocent curiosity.

Harry comes back in, smiling at him in a slightly bemused way as he wanders over to the bed. Louis is perched at the end of it, fidgety. It feels like he's been waiting to ask the question for ages now. "Haz," he says, "why did you go all weird about the whole make-up thing?"

Harry sort of blanches, taken aback, and avoids looking at him. "Well, sorry for not wanting stuff put all over my face."

Louis decides not to mention the fact that, in their career, they have to get foundation and concealer put on them all the time and Harry doesn't seem to have a problem with that. "Is it because they were filming it?" he asks. "Would you have done it if it'd just been me and the lads?" Harry shakes his head. "What about just me?" Louis asks then, his voice a little softer.

Harry hesitates. "Why?" he says finally, suspiciously. Louis reaches into his pocket and pulls out the tube. "Oh, god," groans Harry, twisting away from him. "Of course you did."

"It's only me, now," says Louis gently. "You can't get embarrassed in front of me, right?"

"It's not just that it's _embarrassing_ ," Harry says, a little sharply. "I just don't _want_ to."

"But why?" Louis persists.

"You don't even like girls," Harry grumbles, dodging the question. "Why're you so into lipstick?"

"Why are you so _not_ into lipstick?" Louis retorts. 

He'll admit that it isn't exactly his best comeback, but there's something about this that is making him get strangely fixated and persistent. He will readily admit that he likes to make Harry squirm sometimes, but this actually isn't _about_ that—he just wants to help him get past whatever issue he has here. (And, okay, he also really wants to see what Harry would look like with lipstick on, because he bets it would be really pretty.)

"Look, I'm not going to force you," he says gently. "I just thought, you know, it's just _me_ , like, and—I'm not gonna laugh. Not now I know how much it bothers you. C'mon, Hazza. Just do it for me?"

"Okayyy," sighs Harry, relenting finally. He sits down beside Louis and relaxes a little, lets Louis move in closer. Louis can't help but think of earlier today, when Harry finally let his nails be painted, but only once Louis had encouraged him and taken charge. 

Louis pulls the cap off the lipstick with a _pop_ , and winds it up a little to show Harry the colour. The stick he stole is pinkish-red, just a little darker than Harry's natural shade, and he knows it's going to suit him. Harry doesn't say anything though, just tilts his chin up a bit. Louis sees him swallow, Adam's apple bobbing, and then part his lips.

"Alright, I don't actually know how to do this, so it might be a mess," Louis says, and again Harry doesn't speak. Louis touches the nib of the lipstick to the middle of Harry's lower lip, dabbing gently until the colour shows, and then tries to sweep it across to the corner. He colours in the other side, and smoothes up to his top lip, concentrating hard to fill in the little Cupid's bow. Harry's lips sort of drag and overall it does end up looking a bit untidy, but it's not bad considering Louis's never done it before. 

He pulls back, satisfied with his handiwork, and Harry still doesn't move at all. "You can—" Louis says, smacking his lips at him, and Harry copies him hesitantly, spreading out the colour a little.

There's a pause, and then Harry says in a small voice, "Don't laugh."

"I'm not laughing, babe," Louis says softly, seeing how Harry's cheeks look a little pinker now too. He doesn't know if it's embarrassment, or the lipstick bringing out the colour. "You look gorgeous."

"Shut up," Harry says, but he sounds more bashful than annoyed.

"Do you wanna see?" Louis asks. Harry shakes his head vehemently, which Louis doesn't really understand, but he'll go with it. "Okay. I promise you, though. You look really good."

Harry's tongue darts out briefly to touch his bottom lip. He makes a face. "It tastes all waxy."

"So don't lick it, you freak."

He's only teasing, but Harry suddenly goes tense, eyebrows drawing together. "Don't call me a freak," he says tightly.

"Harry, I'm not making fun of you, I swear. There is nothing funny about the way you look right now," Louis says quietly, taking Harry's face in his hand and caressing it gently. "You look kind of fucking hot, actually."

Harry lets out a sudden, embarrassed bark of laughter, caught off guard. "Shut up," he says again.

"I'm not even kidding. Your lips like that are making me think all kinds of things. Really good things."

Harry curls into his touch, leaning against his hand. "Does it make you wanna kiss me?"

It's making Louis want to do a lot more than that, but he decides not to overload Harry right now, so he just nods and leans in. The lipstick does taste weird, unfamiliar, but it's kind of good too—he can feel the way it smears against his own lips and already he's thinking about what those smears might look like in other places. He licks into Harry's mouth, hot and eager, pushing closer to him on the bed, and Harry makes a little sound in his throat. Louis gets a little more insistent, and then he feels Harry start to struggle and draw away and he lets him go, confused.

"Can I take it off now?" Harry asks quietly, not quite looking Louis in the eye.

"Yeah, babe, of course." Louis reaches for some tissues from the bedside table, and watches as Harry rubs at his mouth with them.

"You've got it on yours now too," Harry says then, handing the tissues to Louis. Louis isn't actually that bothered, but it seems like Harry wants him to take it off so he does.

They don't talk about it again as they get ready for bed, but when they're lying there Harry keeps tossing and turning like he can't get comfortable. Eventually Louis has to ask him what's wrong, and Harry tells him, perhaps feeling safer now in the dark.

Louis already knew Harry was bullied a bit in his first years of high school. He's mentioned it vaguely before, and Louis has never grilled him about it because it was obviously not something Harry wanted to discuss—not until he was ready, anyway. And tonight he is. Tonight he tells Louis all about the boys in the year above who always used to tease him, tell him he looked like a girl. They used to make fun of him for being pretty, and say he should wear make-up like the "other girls" in his class. And then one day they held him down and put make-up on him, laughing and jeering and taunting until Harry was left to run away to the toilets, humiliated and scrubbing desperately at his face until his skin was red and raw.

As Harry tells the story, Louis's heart absolutely sinks. He feels so awful, like such a fucking _dick_ for teasing Harry about it during the interview and saying the lipstick would look funny, and then persuading him afterwards—it doesn't matter that he didn't know, he should've _realised_ how much it bothered him, should've known when to just shut up and leave it alone. 

He never fucking knows when to shut up and leave it alone.

Harry tells him that he's tried to get over it, that he knows there's nothing wrong with being a girl and so he shouldn't be ashamed to look like one, but that the memory is still so strong. Strong enough that sitting there in that radio studio with everyone nagging to make him over just brought it all back.

Louis apologises about fifty times, and Harry brushes him off repeatedly, says it's okay because he didn't know and because it's _him_ , Louis, who he knows would never do anything to hurt him intentionally. Still, Louis feels rotten, and promises not to mention the whole thing ever again. Harry just snuggles in close to him under the covers and says he's glad he can tell him anything, and Louis kisses his forehead and tries to ignore the guilt roiling away in the pit of his stomach.

***

Louis can't stop thinking about it. He keeps remembering the way Harry clammed up when he jokingly called him a freak, and the way he asked if he could take the lipstick off so soon. He thinks of thirteen year old Harry being held down and laughed at and he feels sick and angry and disgusted with himself.

The worst part is that he can't fight away the desire to see Harry in the lipstick again. The image of him wearing it just keeps coming into Louis's head and it happens during sex, and Louis comes harder when he imagines Harry with his mouth painted red and remembers the taste of it when they kissed. It feels so _wrong_ to get off on it now he knows the whole story, but he can't help it. He stuffs the lipstick away in the back of the bathroom cabinet and tries as hard as he can to forget.

And then one day he's just flicking through the TV channels in the living room when Harry wanders in, in a plain white t-shirt and sweatpants and holding the little lipstick tube.

"Oh, sorry," Louis says, feeling the guilt flood through him again. "We can throw it away if you want."

Harry says nothing for a long moment, snapping off the cap and winding the lipstick up a little, looking at it. "Actually," he says, "I just thought—if you wanted to, you could put it on me again."

"No," says Louis quickly, even though a fairly large part of him is saying _yes, god, please._ "No, it's okay Haz, really. We can just forget about it, I don't mind."

"No, I meant—" Harry frowns to himself, and then slips onto the sofa beside Louis, holding out the tube. "I meant, like. I want you to."

Louis looks at him, puzzled. "Really?"

"Yeah." Harry bites his lip, and that doesn't really help Louis's urges.

"But like—not just because I want to, right? I don't want you to feel like you have to do it just to make me happy."

Harry smiles at him. "I like making you happy," he says, and Louis tries to ignore the way that sends heat curling through his body as he takes the lipstick from Harry's fingers.

"All right," he says. "But you can take it off as soon as you want, okay? And I'll stop if you tell me to. I promise."

Harry only lifts his chin and opens his mouth a little, going all relaxed and pliant as he lets Louis paint his lips for the second time. And this time, he's willing to keep it on for a little longer, the two of them just sitting there watching TV, Harry with lipstick on like it's totally normal. Louis keeps sneaking glances at him; he can't get enough of how lush and ripe his lips look with the colour on them, and eventually he can't stand it any longer and has to kiss him.

Harry seems to get kind of giddy off it, thrilled by how much Louis wants him. "Is it really the lipstick?" he asks, bemused.

" _Yes_ , fucking hell, Hazza, you've got no idea how good you look." Louis's hard already, just looking at the smeared colour around Harry's mouth, and he takes Harry's hand and brings it between his legs so he can feel. "Would you—would you suck me?"

Harry grins, cheeky. "With the lipstick on? Wow, Lou."

Louis can't even bring himself to be embarrassed, he just _wants_ it so badly. "Please?"

"Yeah. Yeah, okay."

"Only if you want to," Louis adds hurriedly, but Harry is already slipping off the sofa and sinking to his knees.

"I want to," he says simply, smirking a little.

The blowjob is messy, lipstick smudging around Harry's mouth in a vivid reddish-pink smear, his own spit and Louis's pre-come making it shine. And Louis starts thinking maybe he should get a hold of some lip-gloss, something really slick and sticky, something that will make this even messier. He clutches at Harry's head and can't stop staring, watching as the lipstick leaves bright rings around his own cock, and it's that that makes him come—embarrassingly quick—not getting a chance to warn Harry before the orgasm wracks his body. And then Harry's looking up at him, amused, lips stained with come and make-up and Louis can't stand it, it's so fucking hot, he just gapes at him and can't remember how to speak and all he knows is that they need to do this more, and more, and more.

"Huh," says Harry, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and leaving yet another smear, "okay. Yeah. I—I think I get it."

***

Harry starts asking Louis to put the lipstick on him more often, leaving it on longer each time and getting more comfortable with it. Louis catches him checking his reflection in the mirror, using the tip of his finger to neaten up the lines, and it sends a flash of heat right to his groin. He's already thinking about other shades, what Harry would look like in a bright scarlet or a coppery brown, or even a bruise-like purple. The perfect shape of his lips, that slight sneer, just looks so _good_ filled in with colour.

One morning he comes down for breakfast and finds Harry cooking bacon and eggs in his boxers, and he's got the lipstick on, and _fuck_ , it's the most ridiculous thing Louis has ever found hot but he can't argue with it. The fact that Harry's done it _himself_ this time—and obviously tried really hard to get it perfect, from the looks of things—makes Louis want to have him right then and there.

He does, on the kitchen table, and breakfast gets burnt, but neither of them care.

Louis can't stop planning, wanting _more_ of this, and one day he comes home with a surprise for Harry, a whole little bag full of make-up products. He has lip-gloss, eye shadow, eyeliner, and mascara, and even some little remover wipes because a couple of nights ago Zayn dropped by unexpectedly and Harry couldn't quite get all the lipstick off with just his sleeve. (They had to pretend like he'd had some kind of spectacular nosebleed, and Louis really doesn't want to have to go through something like _that_ again.)

"Woah," says Harry, picking through it all. He sounds uncertain. "Where did you even _get_ this?"

"You know, they actually sell it in shops," Louis deadpans. "I was shocked too."

Harry elbows him in the ribs. "You just went into a shop and bought all this?" It's like he's mortified just thinking about it.

"Yeah," Louis shrugs. "Cashier gave me a funny look and I said I was doing errands for my girlfriend. You should know by now that I have no shame, Harold."

Harry grins at him, shaking his head as he picks through the cosmetics. "I don't have to put it all on at once?" he asks.

Louis pulls him close and ruffles his hair. "You don't _have_ to do anything, love. Just do what you're comfortable with. We can go really slow."

And they do. Harry lets him try the lip-gloss first, and it's just as good as Louis imagined, all slippery and sweet-tasting, and it tingles on the sensitive skin of his cock. It's bubblegum pink and slightly shimmery, which somehow makes it look even more obscene when it's spread over Harry's lips. Then they try the eyeliner, and Louis has to watch about eight video tutorials on YouTube before he can get it right, and Harry insists Louis tries it on himself first just to make sure he's really not going to poke Harry's eye out. Louis is perfectly willing to do this, and gets pretty good at it—it's harder to do it on someone else but it still comes out quite neatly.

The combination of the eyeliner and mascara is best. Louis can't really get the eye shadow right and it doesn't seem necessary anyway—the stark black of the eyeliner and mascara is enough; it really makes the green of Harry's eyes pop somehow and he just looks so _pretty_. 

The first time Harry sucks him off like that, Louis literally can't stop staring at him, at his long dark lashes fanning out. Harry gazes up at him through the rings of make-up, his eyes so bright, and Louis has to pull out abruptly because he's going to come and it's too soon, he wants to make this last. But then Harry tilts his chin just a little and closes his eyes, lets the head of Louis's cock bump his cheekbone, and Louis loses it—he only has time to gasp out "C-can I?" before his body spasms and he's spilling all over Harry's face, come catching in Harry's painted eyelashes and sliding down his cheek to the corner of his reddened lips.

" _Fuck_ ," Louis hisses out, pressing a thumb to Harry's skin and smearing it through his own mess, letting the make-up run and smudge. Harry has his eyes squeezed shut and his cheeks are flushed pink under the splash of white and Louis has to kiss him, doesn't care about the lipstick and the come all over his mouth. "Sorry. Fuck, sorry," he pants out when he lets Harry go, helping to wipe his eyelashes clear with the tip of his finger.

"It's—it's okay," says Harry, and his voice is half-caught in his throat, and when he looks up at Louis his eyes are wide and bloodshot and beginning to water but he looks _wild_ with something, hungry. "Want—" he spits out, and then cuts himself off and pulls Louis into another kiss, desperate. "Want you to fuck me," he breathes against Louis's lips.

Louis's breath hitches. "Might—might have to give me a minute."

Harry lets out a frustrated sort of groan, heaving himself up onto the bed on top of Louis, curling in close against him, his erection hot and hard at Louis's hip.

"You don't—you don't wanna wash your face?" Louis murmurs as Harry starts in kissing his neck, nipping gently at his collarbone.

"No," is Harry's only response, his voice low, and—well, that's that.

They fuck a _lot_ while Harry's got the make-up on and he looks so good, eyes glazed and glassy beneath the liner and mascara which always ends up a total mess by the end of the night. He really seems to be _enjoying_ it now, spurred on by the way that Louis likes it so much. He always likes to be the centre of Louis's attention, and there's nothing that gets Louis looking at him quicker than when he wanders into the room all done up. When he asks Louis to do it for him, it's even better, because Louis is completely fixated on him, concentrating on getting the make-up right. Harry just seems to go into a totally different headspace during those moments, when Louis is holding him still and closely focusing on his features. He'll go quiet, still and patient, breath coming a little quicker and pupils going wide, and he'll let Louis move him any way he needs, responding instantly to the slightest nudge of Louis's fingers. 

***

It's easy, really. Fans are throwing their underwear at the boys _all the time_ , Louis's almost surprised he hasn't thought of it before. But it's the make-up that's opened them both up to all of this, and so tonight onstage when a silky black pair of knickers comes flying right at him, it's just so _easy_ to catch them in his fist and wink suggestively at the girls in the audience before stuffing them into his pocket. He tries not to look at Harry but he can't help it; sees him laugh and then raise his eyebrows a little, more subtly, like he knows what Louis's planning, and—he definitely doesn't look like he's opposed to the idea.

The knickers feel itchy shoved into his pocket against his thigh. He's so hyperaware of them that it's hard to concentrate on the rest of the show, and he's lucky they're nearing the end already.

"Why've you got those?" Liam asks on the way back to the hotel, noticing the knickers still sticking out of Louis's pocket.

"Can't just keep ignoring them all the time, can we? Don't wanna look ungrateful," Louis shrugs, again trying hard not to look at Harry and completely failing. Harry turns away, sniggering.

"Don't even want to know," mutters Zayn, like he _already_ knows, staring fixedly in the other direction.

The second the door of their hotel room shuts behind them, Louis is kissing Harry, pressing him up against the wall. His tongue slips between Harry's lips and Harry makes a little sound, hands clutching at Louis's waist and then one of them slipping into Louis's pocket and retrieving the knickers. Louis nips at Harry's bottom lip a little, and Harry's eyes flick up to meet his, dark and wicked.

"You want to?" Louis breathes, kissing him again, quick and hard.

"Mmm," is Harry's response, more of a whimper than anything else.

"It's not—it's not a thing, like the make-up?"

Harry just fixes his eyes on him and shakes his head, exaggerated and sure, running his tongue over his lips. He winds the silk of the knickers around his hand and kisses Louis again.

"I'm gonna shower," he says then, grinning against Louis's lips like he knows _exactly_ how frustrating that sentence is.

Louis groans. "Do you have to?"

"Uh huh. Gonna make you wait for it." Harry kisses him again like he can't help himself, his mouth hot.

Louis remembers the little pouch with the make-up in it, hidden inside Harry's wash bag. "You gonna make yourself up for me?" he murmurs, eyes flickering over Harry's face, already picturing it. "Make yourself all pretty? Yeah?"

"Maybe," says Harry coyly, starting to pull away. He bites his bottom lip, making it redder. "If you say please."

Louis shakes his head a little, but it's in frustrated disbelief rather than refusal. In fact, he's more than willing to beg. "Please?" he whispers softly.

"You really want me to?" Harry asks, like he doesn't know full well.

" _Please_ ," Louis stresses, and Harry finally relents, slipping off into the bathroom.

It's pretty much torture waiting for him, sitting there on the bed just picturing him getting himself ready. Louis imagines him leaning over the bathroom counter putting his make-up on, and pulling the silky knickers up his strong legs. He gets the lube out of his suitcase and tosses it on the bed, and then strips off, too hot, sweating and hard. It's such a struggle not to touch himself just from the thoughts going round in his head but he knows that what he's about to experience is going to be much, much better.

After what seems like a fucking age, the bathroom door opens again and Harry steps out, and he's _blushing_ , and Louis knows that's the cause of the pink flush on his cheeks because they don't own any make-up that does that. He looks—he looks _so fucking good_ , Louis's left speechless for a long moment. His face is perfectly made-up, his eyes smokey with kohl, lashes long with mascara, lips neatly painted red. He's naked apart for the knickers, and Louis's eyes scan his long slender torso, his lean calves and the strong curve of his thighs, and that tight black silk, struggling to hold in his already half-hard cock. God, the _contrast_ , the little girly knickers on his muscular body—it's so hot and Louis doesn't even know why.

Harry dips one ankle and he looks so _coy_ , taking in Louis's reaction from under his fringe, the slightly damp curls hanging in his eyes. "Shit," says Louis, finding his voice. "Turn around." Harry hesitates. "Wanna see your arse in those. Please, Hazza," Louis's voice cracks a little on the last syllable.

Harry turns, and Louis swallows at the way the knickers don't fully cover him at the back, exposing more than half of each pale rounded cheek. He has to get up, has to _touch_. The black silk is somehow even softer against Harry's skin, and Louis presses in close, lets his erection rub up against the smoothness of it. 

Harry sucks in a breath, holding onto the doorframe for support. "You like it?"

Louis chokes out a "Fuck, yes," sliding his palm beneath the slightly ruffled waistband of the knickers and feeling the heat of Harry's skin underneath. He slips his finger down to Harry's hole, presses light and blunt against it with the pad of his fingertip and feels it flutter gently.

"Y-yeah," Harry pants out, jutting his hips so his arse presses back against Louis's hand.

Louis walks them both to the bed, hand still down the back of Harry's knickers (and god, that's good, thinking of them as _his_ ) and then bends him over. Harry goes up on his tiptoes, splaying out on his chest on the mattress with his arse sticking shamelessly up in the air, and Louis reaches for the lube without taking his eyes off him. He gets the silky fabric of the knickers a little damp as he tucks his fingers back inside, slicked up now and sliding smoothly over Harry's hole. He pushes one in slow and deep, his whole hand curved to Harry's body with the elastic of the knickers trapping his wrist, and Harry moans, all raw and drawn-out. 

He doesn't need much prep, already whimpering for more and then rocking his hips back so he's fucking himself on Louis's fingers, clutching at the duvet. Louis is impatient too, unable to help himself from bucking up against Harry like he's fucking him already, his erection nudging against Harry's arse and turning the fabric of the knickers even darker with pre-come.

He hitches up Harry's legs, hauling him onto the bed fully, and Harry settles out on his hands and knees, letting Louis fit behind him. Louis strokes his fingers down Harry's crack through the black silk and then just tucks two fingers beneath to drag the fabric to one side, and Harry moans with the realisation of what he's doing. 

"Yeah," he says, quick and low, "yeah, leave them on," and his thighs are trembling a little in anticipation as Louis closes in. Louis uses his hand to align the head of his dick with Harry's hole and pushes, through that first impossibly tight squeeze and then deeper, and Harry moans again, loud. He is a hot pulse around Louis's cock, almost too intense but so fucking good, and Louis takes a moment to catch his breath, pleasure tingling down his spine.

He lets go of himself and slides his palm up to the small of Harry's back to steady him, still holding the knickers aside with his other hand as he fills Harry up all the way. "Oh, _god_ ," Harry groans, shuddering and clenching around him, and when Louis eases out and strokes back in again Harry slips right onto his forearms, back arched high and face pressed into the sheets.

Louis lets go of the knickers, spreading his hands flat over Harry's back instead, holding him down firmly by the shoulder blades as he begins to fuck into him, hips working fast right away and driving in. Harry manages to turn his head to the side, hair in his face, knuckles turning white as he pulls at handfuls of the bedding. The knickers are rubbing against Louis's cock with each thrust, a rough drag of fabric adding a different sensation, and Louis lets out a desperate little noise, fingers kneading at the skin of Harry's back as he pounds into him. Harry has his legs slightly bent in on themselves, hooked over Louis's, keeping him close so he won't pull out too far.

Louis strokes a hand up through Harry's hair, combing through the soft strands, and Harry twists, trying to look up at Louis behind him—and oh, god, Louis can see a red smear of lipstick on the white sheets and the black shadow has gone all smudgey because Harry's eyes are wet, and then there's the knickers all stretched to one side, wet with pre-come and lube. Louis is making such a _mess_ of him.

"Look so good, babe," he forces out, touching Harry all over, hands skimming across his hot skin.

"Yeah?" Harry breathes, and it's like he's _glowing_ from that one sentence, thrilled by how much Louis loves this. 

"Yeah. Fuck." Louis can't stop staring at his face now, but Harry has to crane his neck to look into his eyes and it doesn't look comfortable. Louis forces himself to stop thrusting and Harry makes a disappointed noise. "Wanna see you," Louis explains. "Your face."

"Okay," says Harry, and Louis can tell he's pleased by that, happy to have even more of Louis's attention on him. He eases himself off Louis's dick and rolls over, settling on his back on the bed. Louis's eyes are instantly drawn to Harry's cock, so hard now and trapped in the knickers, straining against the flimsy silk, the shiny head poking out and held down tight against his belly by the waistband. It's—it's fucking _obscene_. Louis's mouth goes wet and he swallows, transfixed.

Harry wriggles, impatient and oblivious, wrapping his legs around Louis and trying to pull him down on top of him. "Come on," he says a little crossly.

"Fuck. Harry, look, look at yourself," Louis says weakly, reaching out and running a finger lightly over the slit of Harry's cock, gathering the wetness there and feeling Harry shiver.

Harry looks down, and Louis sees his cheeks go redder as his gaze focuses on his own erection in the knickers, stretching them out like he's going to split the fabric. "Oh, _god_ ," he moans, shutting his eyes and shoving down against Louis desperately. "Lou, keep fucking me, please, I can't—"

Louis doesn't need to be told twice, too eager right now to even think of teasing Harry; he tugs the knickers aside once again and slides back in with one smooth roll of his hips, Harry letting out a spluttering gasp and locking his legs around Louis tightly. 

As Louis starts to work in and out of him again, the silky fabric of the knickers rubs over Harry's cock and Harry squirms, breathing heavy, eyes squeezed shut, black make-up a smear over his lids. His mouth is slack and red and Louis just wants to touch all of him all at once. He reaches up to his face, two fingers pushing between his lips, and Harry takes them instantly, suckling and leaving lipstick stains on Louis's skin. With his other hand, Louis touches Harry's cock, palming it through his knickers, feeling out the slight curve of it and stroking, and Harry bites down on Louis's fingers, letting out a muffled moan around them. 

He's so hard and so _wet_ , pre-come dampening the silky fabric and making it slick, making Louis's hand move more easily, gliding over him and losing rhythm. And he's so tight around Louis, too, smooth and hot and pulling him in, and Louis stares at Harry's beautiful face and feels the suction of Harry's red lips around his fingers and he can't hold it any longer—he gives in to the sudden sharp burst of release and comes, body seizing up as he shoots deep inside and sees stars. 

He winds down slowly, still reeling from it, but Harry is grinding against him desperately, not wanting to lose the friction. Louis's fingers have slipped out of his mouth, dragging out a smudge of lipstick and saliva over his skin, and he's writhing determinedly, slapping his own hand over Louis's on his erection and pawing frantically to try and get Louis to keep stroking at him. Louis's head is spinning and all he can do is stare, trying to gather himself together as Harry uses both of their hands to try and bring himself off. He starts moving his hand too after a dazed moment, pressing and rubbing hard, and Harry is needy for it, nodding and breathless.

"Yeah," Louis forces out, and his voice sounds weak. "Yeah, Harry, make—make a mess in your knickers, come on, get them all wet—"

Louis's words push Harry over the edge; his body jerks suddenly and he comes hard and with a cry, spurting up over the tensing plane of his stomach and then soaking through the silk, trembling violently and grabbing at Louis's forearm, his wet fingers tightening hard around it.

Louis strokes at the ruined fabric, decides he wants Harry to leave the knickers on until they're properly soaked through and sticking to him. He leans down and kisses Harry's stomach, licking up a little of the come that splashed onto his skin there, and Harry makes a pathetic noise and pulls Louis down beside him, kissing him hard, the taste of the lipstick chemical-sharp on his mouth. 

"Think we're gonna have to throw these out," he says then, his voice hoarse as he reaches down between his legs to feel just how much they've wrecked the knickers.

Louis doesn't care; he wants new pairs anyway, wants to know what Harry would look like in red lace or something pink and frilly. "Good thing we've got an endless supply of teenage girls chucking them at us, then," he chuckles.

Harry groans. " _God._ Does that not make you feel like a perv?" He nuzzles into Louis's neck, probably getting make-up all over him but Louis can't bring himself to care.

"Yeah," says Louis, "but in a really, really good way. Honestly, I just think it's a shame they don't give us their dresses and skirts too. Or their heels..."

Harry squirms against him, his face hot as he sucks in a breath. "We...could probably work something out," he says, and—yeah, Louis thinks they probably could.


End file.
